


Said and Done

by dindjarindiaries



Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canonical-type Violence, F/M, dom!reader, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dindjarindiaries/pseuds/dindjarindiaries
Summary: With Din being injured from a past fight, you’re the one in charge of the hunts for now—and Din realizes he likes having you in control.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Kudos: 56





	Said and Done

“No.”

“ _Yes_.” Din’s modulated voice is firm, already clueing you in to the fact that he’s not going to be changing his mind anytime soon. You know he’s too stubborn for his own good.

“Din, you are in no shape to come on this hunt.” You place your hands on your hips, gesturing to the makeshift sling that holds Din’s left arm in place. “Your elbow—.”

“Was _dislocated_ , not broken,” Din reminds you, his rasp even more firm than usual as he takes a step closer to where you’re standing by the weaponry in the hull. “The kid did what he could for it. It’s back in place and it’s practically fine.” Din tries to show you by taking off the sling, trying to extend his arm out—but you catch the wince he tries to hide behind his helmet. “See?” The word is uttered through gritted teeth.

“Nice try, Mandalorian,” you retort, unable to keep yourself from grinning at his tough display as you help him to place his arm back in the sling. “Even the fiercest of warriors can’t deny the true pain of dislocating bones.”

“Still,” Din sighs, shoulders falling forward a bit in his failure to appear unaffected, “I can at least be there, just in case something happens. It’s not my dominant hand.”

You cross your arms as you stand in front of him, chewing on your lower lip as you ponder his words. He’d dislocated his arm on his last hunt, having gotten in a bar fight with some of the quarry’s entourage and ending up with an arm laying limp as he threw the quarry over his other shoulder. It’d been about a week since then, but still, you knew he needed more time—and obviously, due to what just happened, Din was still in quite a bit of pain.

But he had a point. He could at least come as backup for you on the hunt. You know he doesn’t like to sit around and do nothing—especially if _you’re_ the one out there doing something risky. His protection over both you and the child got even more intense after you became his _riduur_ , and you know that all he wants to do is make sure he’s taking care of his clan.

So, with a heavy sigh and a repositioning of your hands back onto your hips, you give him a nod. “Fine. But you’re only serving as _backup_. You’re not to fight unless absolutely necessary. Understand that, Djarin?”

Din nods back at you. “Understood, Djarin.”

You can’t help smiling a bit at the fact he’d turned his name, which is now also _your_ name, against you. “Also, _I_ get the pulse rifle.”

“I… couldn’t handle that right now even if I wanted to, _cyare_.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you reach for the rifle and use the strap Din had given you to secure it over your shoulder. “I guess your lessons with me are finally gonna come in handy.” You’re in the middle of placing additional charges into a pouch on your belt when you stop looking up at Din with a raised eyebrow. “You also know you’re gonna have to watch over the child in his pram, right?”

“That was part of the plan.” Din chuckles a bit as he twirls his blaster in his good hand, securing it back in his holster. “You act like I’ve never been on a hunt before, _cyar’ika_.”

“I’m just making sure.” You snicker playfully as Din shakes his helmet at you.

“Seems like you’re in control here.”

“Seems like I am.” You pause to look at Din with another brow raised. “If you’ll let me be.” The look in your eye communicates the words you don’t say: _I can handle it_.

Din lifts his good arm in mock surrender as he takes a step away from you. “I trust you, _riduur_.” You know he wouldn’t have a problem with it, anyway. Din has never been the type to command you around. He’s given you freedom and shown you time and time again that he truly does trust you. Yet, you know that he’s typically the one to be in charge, with this being his ship and hunting being his long-time profession. He’s given you the opportunity to take charge before, but until now, you hadn’t found it necessary.

With these thoughts in mind, you resume getting everything ready before heading out. The last item you tuck onto your belt is the tracking fob Karga had supplied you both with. You look and see that Din’s already placed the child into his pram and hooked it up to the vambrace on his good arm, giving you a nod to confirm that he has everything in order. You turn to the hatch and open it up, begin to lead the way for your clan for the first time in such a context.

Din walks just behind you with an odd feeling in his stomach. It’s not a bad one—not at all, Din thinks—but it’s different. He can’t seem to place it yet. There’s just something about the way you’re leading ahead of him instead of vice versa, the way you decided what he’d get to do, the way you gave him orders, that all culminated into this knot that’s twisted inside his stomach that’s nearly pleasing to Din. He feels protected. Safe. _Warm_.

And something else he can’t fully identify yet.

But it’s already starting to stir within him, and Din has a feeling he’ll like it most of all as he and the baby’s pram follow after you. Once you’re deep inside the marketplace where your quarry’s hiding out, Din sees you turn around to face him, and you subtly extend a hand that gestures for him to stop. He nods at you, having to keep himself from continuing to follow along when you turn and walk away. Din releases a sigh as he keeps himself and the baby’s pram close to the edge of the marketplace, attempting to blend in as best as he can for being a Mandalorian.

“I guess it’s just you and me now, huh, _verd’ika?_ ” Din questions in the direction of the pram, which is closed for the child’s protection. He pretends to await for an answer, his visor looking back out to the faint image of you he has in the distance. “Yeah, your _buir_ will be perfectly fine on her own.”

Din believes that, no matter how much his protective senses are screaming at him to pursue you. Though, after a few agonizing moments and what he swears is the slightest sound of a skirmish coming from your direction, Din decides to head in that direction. After all, he figures, he has to be in a good position to leap to your defense if he’s calling himself backup. When Din’s gone quite a few steps and still hasn’t caught sight of you, he can feel his feet moving instinctively faster, until he realizes he’s jogging to catch up to wherever you are.

The sounds of combat soon come into hearing, and Din braces himself around the corner of a nearby wall as he turns to face the scene. His gloved hand brushes over his holster as he gets a firm grip on his blaster. You’re on the outskirts of the marketplace, currently dueling with two Trandoshans with the pulse rifle in arms. Din has to make himself think twice before already engaging. He knows that he can’t blow his cover unless _absolutely_ necessary—that’s the order you’d given him. And had he given you the same one, he would’ve wanted you to follow it. Din might be eager to protect you, but he’s not dense when it comes to hunting. He knows the protocols. Plus, you don’t really need his help right now.

Din already feels his heart beating faster in his chest as he watches you fight impressively. As you kick away one Trandoshan, you hit another in the stomach with the rifle, sending each back a few steps and giving you the advantage. You handle the rifle as if it’s always been your own, stepping with intimidating grace as you knock the blaster from one of their hands while grabbing the wrist of the other. You shock the one whose wrist you hold before turning and spinning fast to hit the other Trandoshan _hard_ , knocking them to the ground and keeping them pinned there with your foot. The metal prongs of the rifle aim right above his throat.

“Where’s the bounty?” you demand, your voice low and—if Din’s being honest—intimidating.

The Trandoshan chuckles darkly up at you. “You couldn’t get ‘em even if I told you,” he spits in his snake-like voice, and Din has to keep himself from lunging out just to challenge whoever would dare to speak to his _riduur_ in such a manner.

But you have it under control. “I could get _you_ , and I’m sure he wouldn’t put up much more of a challenge,” you snap. You light up the prongs just inches away from his throat, causing his dark eyes to widen and reflect the light as you ask again. “ _Where’s_ the _bounty?_ ”

“He’ll find you before you find him,” the Trandoshan insists, and almost as if on cue, you and Din are both alerted by a shadow that jumps down from a nearby rooftop. Din can hear you curse as you shock the Trandoshan to keep him down—but the bounty knocks the rifle from your hands before you can use it against him. You pull your blaster from your holster as you begin to shoot in stun mode at him, the blue circles just barely missing as he sends deathly bolts in your direction. You duck and roll to avoid enough of them, keeping your distance until you chase him in circles enough to get him to trip over the pulse rifle you’d lost before. You roll close and stand up quickly, holding your blaster straight at him with one hand outstretched. Din watches with a racing pulse and a gaped mouth.

“I can bring you in warm,” you begin, flexing your finger on the trigger and showing that you’re now playing with the setting to turn the blaster back to deadly bolts, “or I can bring you in cold.”

Din feels an indescribable sensation upon hearing you utter the words, _his_ words. The sense of control you have now, the power over this person; as a man raised in a warrior culture, it makes Din realize what’s securing the knot in his stomach together. It’s seeing your strength. It’s seeing you lead. It’s seeing you _in control_. And it’s making Din feel even more attracted to you than he’d been before—a feat he didn’t think possible.

The man—a Duros—doesn’t respond to you. He only smiles mischievously, both arms raised in what appears to be surrender, though his expression says something entirely different. It comes into fruition when he moves quickly, grabbing your wrist and turning his body to avoid the bolt you send from the gun. He then knocks the gun from your grip and tries to lunge forward, but you stop him with that same arm securing around his neck. Your free hand had already gripped your knife, and you move to plunge it into his neck—but he brings a hand up to grab your wrist and stop you, the other ripping your hand away from his throat. You drop the knife and let it fall but duck to catch it quickly with your free hand, taking a hold on the knife and plunging it into his abdomen. The man freezes, the cocky expression fading as he stares at you in disbelief. Din watches as you raise an eyebrow at him. “I guess it’s cold, then,” you say, shrugging as you take the knife back out and slide it into its rightful place. The poison you lace your knife with works fast, and the Duros collapses to the ground just moments later, leaving you to take care of the mess.

Meanwhile, Din’s still breathing heavily behind the wall—and it’s not from his panic at your fight. He’s still trying to process what you’ve awakened in him, the warrior part of him that you’ve somehow manifested just by doing what he normally does and has been doing for countless years now. There’s a feeling that’s deep-rooted in his stomach but also starts pumping through his veins and suddenly Din’s very aware of the way he wishes to be drowned in nothing but _you_ —in the same demanding way you’ve handled this entire hunt.

“You all right?” your voice suddenly rings in Din’s ear, and he sees the quarry cuffed and tossed over your shoulder, realizing he’d been zoned out much too long to be paying attention to what you did in the aftermath of the fight.

“I’m fine,” Din assures you, snapping out of his daze for now as he gives you a nod. “And you? Do you want me to take him?” Din gestures to his good shoulder.

“I got him,” you insist with a small smile. “He’s not that heavy—and I’m stronger than I look.”

“No, _cyar’ika_ ,” Din insists lowly, his modulated voice thick with admiration as he looks at you, “you look strong. _Very_ strong.”

You raise an eyebrow at him as you both start making your way back to the Crest. “What’s that supposed to mean, Djarin?”

Din’s hands on his right hand clench into a fist over and over again as he searches for the right words. He’s realizing that it’s taking everything in him to not beg for something, _anything_ , from you right now in this very moment. _Maybe it’s the medication talking_ , Din tries to reassure himself, thinking of the pain relief tablets you’d convinced him to take just before you’d left. “You… put up a great fight.”

You hum with delight. Din’s stomach flutters further at the sound of it. “I’m glad you thought so, too.”

_Oh_ , this sense of confidence. Din has to grit his teeth to keep himself from saying something he might regret in public. Ever since your marriage, he’s never been one to restrain himself from proving his love for you through actions, but this sensation is entirely different. And he likes it. “It was obvious, _cyare_.”

“Was it, now?” You’ve still got that edge of cockiness to your voice and Din swears he would let you keep it forever if you wanted to, let you use it in any way you wanted to. Din doesn’t know what the hell’s possessing him but, for right now, he hopes it never stops.

“Yes, _ner alor_.”

You look at him almost incredulously, almost as unable to believe that Din’s called you what he has as he is. But he doesn’t regret it—and he hopes it keeps that combat-induced arrogance alive within you.

The rest of the walk to the ship is silent, but the tension between the two of you is thick and as loud as any words could be. Din knows now that you’re beginning to sense what’s stirring within him, his utter admiration of letting you be in control. He’s just left to wonder if you’ll take advantage of it, or if the softer and more tender side of you that he’s used to and loves just as much will come back out. Din wouldn’t mind either—though he can’t lie and say he’s not curious to know more of _this_ , more of the _alor_ he’s wed himself to.

When the quarry’s taken care of, the child’s put to bed, and the ship’s locked into its coordinates, Din finds you coming to his aid as you have been ever since his injury, assisting him in removing his armor for the day. It’s still silent as you work to remove each piece and Din tries to assist you with his good arm, the helmet always being the last thing to come off. Din’s almost scared for what you’ll see when you do take it off, because he hasn’t become accustomed to having to hide his facial expressions, and he’s sure he’ll give away more of what he hasn’t already said about today’s events.

Yet, Din soon realizes that you already _do_ know, especially as you start to reach for the sides of his helmet. “So,” you begin, voice steady yet low as you move to start taking the helmet off, “I have a feeling you liked letting me run today’s hunt.” You remove it completely, easing it down next to the pile of his other pieces of armor as you look back to him with an arch in your brow. “Is that true, _riduur?_ ” Your tone’s nearly hushed now, reaching practically into Din’s very soul as your gaze looks intently into his own.

He swallows hard—not because he’s nervous, but because he’s trying to cling to at least some shred of his pride and not fall on his knees in front of you, the woman he admires so much. “It was… a good change.”

“Ah.” You smile up at him in that arrogant way, not in a way that pisses him off but in a way that makes his knees weak. Your gaze falls to your hands as they lift to brace themselves against his chest. “You like to see me in control…” you trail off, hands pushing him back slowly and rather gently until you’ve backed Din into the wall of the Crest, “... don’t you?”

Din’s breathing is much more erratic, now. He doesn’t know what’s overtaking him, but it doesn’t frighten him. He eagerly falls into your trance. With a nod, he agrees with your words.

Your face comes dangerously close to his own, right up until Din can feel your breath against his lips. He watches your eyes sparkle with the same feeling he has and can’t describe, and you try to bite back your smile as you ask him one more question. “Will you let me stay in control, Djarin?”

And from somewhere deep within him, Din responds with the words he longs to say, his warrior instincts long since having overcome him as he does so. “ _Ni gedeti_.”

With his compliance, you finally give him what he wants, pressing your lips against his and leading Din in a way he’s never witnessed before. He’s always been so used to being the one who guides—just because those are his natural instincts—but to be led by you, to have you guide every kiss, every movement, every ounce of pleasure leaves him on overload in every way, shape, and form. You’re so gentle with that injured part of him in your typical tender and caring way, but with everything else, you’re as rough and demanding as you want to be. You’re merciless and Din could care less. He never realized how much he craved that, how much he adores the view of you above him just as much as below, how much he loves the way he and his body call out for you the same way he enjoys it the other way around.

But perhaps what he loves the most is at the end of it all, when you’re content with what you’ve done and Din’s left to wonder about what he’s let himself miss out on all those times where he instinctively took control, when you so easily shift back into the tender women he fell in love with. “Are you okay, Din?” you ask in a voice that’s slightly hoarse from so much talking and demanding yet soft with tenderness as you brush a hand over his cheek. “I didn’t push you or your arm too hard, right?”

Din can’t help smiling warmly at you, placing his good hand over the one on his cheek. “I’m perfectly all right, _ner kar’ta_. Everything’s great. _You’re_ great.”

You begin to return that same smile at him, your thumb still brushing over his cheek as you leave a gentle kiss on his nose. “And you’re sure you… liked that?”

Din laughs at the way you’re acting so shy now, lifting your hand from his cheek to press a kiss to your inner wrist. “It was incredible, _riduur_ , believe me. You should never be afraid to take control in any situation like I do, especially in one such as that. Challenge is a good thing.”

You giggle and nod at him, sighing lightly as you begin to stand from the place where you’d both fallen numbly together into your makeshift bed. “Well, I’ll retire that temporarily. It’s exhausting and I’ll let you handle it.” Din laughs again at that, accepting the hand you reach out to help him stand up with you. “For now, I want to help get you cleaned up and off to bed.”

Din grins slyly at that, looking at you as you take him by the hand to lead the both of you to the fresher. “Was that not enough time in bed, _cyar’ika?_ ”

You swat his good arm playfully as he chuckles. “You cheeky Mandalorian bastard, you know what I meant.” Yet, you can’t help laughing with him, beaming when he lifts your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles.

At the end of it all, Din knows that he truly loves you in every way, shape, and form—no matter how you choose to express it. And that’s what makes him believe that you’re as divine as they come.

**Author's Note:**

> mando’a translations:  
> riduur = wife/husband  
> cyare = beloved  
> cyar’ika = darling/sweetheart  
> verd’ika = little soldier  
> buir = mother/father  
> ner alor = my leader  
> Ni gideti = I beg  
> ner kar’ta = my heart


End file.
